


Waiting For The New Dawn

by Daughter_of_Thranduil



Series: One Good Turn [1]
Category: Les Miserables, Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen, Just lots of political idealism, No Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-04 02:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16338131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daughter_of_Thranduil/pseuds/Daughter_of_Thranduil
Summary: Walking home from the Musain late one night, Enjolras finds himself with the most unlikely of conversation partners.





	Waiting For The New Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Importing some old stuff over from ff.net. I was quite pleased with this little series when I wrote it years ago.

Enjolras strode angrily down the cobbled street, long legs eating up the distance with ease. His characteristic coolness was far from present that night. His fists were clenched, his eyebrows lowered and his blue eyes were blazing with sheer rage.

Damned Royalists! He, Courfeyrac and Joly had spent most of the night arguing with one of his fellow law students, Pierre Leroux, in the Cafe Leblin, and Enjolras had worked himself into a tremendous fury as a result.

He had no intention of returning to his rooms just yet; he was still far too angry. Combeferre was out of the city visiting his family, so there would be no one to talk to when he got there. And without the reasoned, gentle speeches of Combeferre to placate him, Enjolras knew he would only stay angry and would never be able to sleep that night. Seeing an empty bench by the fountain at the bottom of the street, he made his way across to it. Perhaps a little fresh air would clear his head. Maybe he should sit here for a while...

He flung himself onto the wooden bench with an angry sigh, crossing his long, lean legs in front of him. Leroux's snobbishness and his ignorance had both been astounding! A resolute royalist, he had sneered at Courfeyrac's decision to drop the particle from his name, laughed aloud at the fact that Enjolras, despite being the only son of a very rich gentleman, chose to associate with the likes of Feuilly and Bahorel than with other privileged youths like himself, and had all but called Joly an imbecile! When he had then proceeded to interrupt a conversation between the three amis about the eloquence of Robespierre, Enjolras had had enough and, taking his leave of Courfeyrac and Joly, had left the cafe before he could do the royalist fool an injury!

The sound of a suppressed sob suddenly started him out of his angry thoughts and he looked with surprise to his left hand side. He had been so wrapped up in being irritated, that he had not even noticed that there was a young woman sitting dejectedly at the edge of the kerb close by; a curly-haired brunette, who looked to be somewhere around his own age, dressed in a provocatively low cut dress.

Ordinarily, she would have excited no interest from Enjolras. The young law student, unlike many of his friends, had no romantic notions whatsoever and in fact, considered courting women a waste of valuable time that could be put to far more constructive use. After all, why would a man dream of love, when he could be dreaming of liberty? However, Enjolras had also been brought up to be a gentleman, and this young woman was clearly in distress, tears glistening on her painted face. "Are you all right, Citizeness?" he enquired, somewhat awkwardly. He was not used to talking to women.

Raising her head at the sound of his voice, the girl sniffled and offered him a watery smile. "Don't concern yourself, monsieur, it is nothing drastic."

"Your face!" Now that she was facing him, Enjolras was able to see that a viscous looking bruise was blossoming on her chin and her bottom lip was swollen. "Mon Dieu, who has done this to you?"

"I've had worse," said the girl with a shrug. "You don't work for Madame Daubereill without getting roughed up a little now and then! I just wandered onto someone else's patch, is all."

"You mean you're a..." Enjolras said before he could stop himself, unable to contain his surprise. He felt his cheeks grow warm, but the girl did not look to be embarrassed.

"A 'whore' is the word you're looking for, monsieur," she said mildly, shrewd green eyes watching him steadily. "Can’t imagine you’re used to associating with them. But yes, I am."

"I...forgive me, but why?” Enjolras was confused. He had seen many prostitutes in his time – his good looks ensured that he came in for a fair bit of attention when he and Combeferre walked home late at night. But the women of the street he had encountered before had been drunken and obscene; wantons who had lifted their skirts and called out lewd phrases to the embarrassed pair of students until they had hurried on past them. This girl was, at present, neither a drunk nor a wanton. She appeared to be stone cold sober, with clear eyes and a steady if somewhat cynical gaze. Not exactly what would picture if asked to describe a whore! Was there no way for her to earn a living without being so degraded? "What has lead you to such a path, Citizeness?”

"A girl has got to eat, monsieur," the girl replied flatly.

"There are other ways!" Enjolras protested; his strict and prudish morals horrified that any young woman should be forced to earn her daily bread through such humiliation. "There are dozens of other ways to earn a sou!"

"I am no good for anythin' else," she told him ruefully, wincing as she gingerly prodded the bruise on her face. "I can't read much, I can't write at all, I'm no good with a needle and thread...but I've got a good bust and a strong belly. That's enough to get me work for the time being."

"What about your pride?" asked Enjolras, sounding bemused. Pride meant so much to him – a little too much sometimes, as Combeferre and Joly were fond of telling him – that he simply could not imagine someone having to utterly forsake theirs in order to earn their bread and water. It was an unbearable thought and his blood burned at the injustice of it all, when one profligate King had been overthrown only to be replaced by another. His companion laughed at that, genuinely amused by his outrage.

"Bless you, monsieur, but when you're born in the gutter, you can't afford to have pride!" she cried, bitterness lacing her voice like acid. "If I didn't fall on my back when it was demanded of me, I'd starve! I get by. It ain't a bed of roses, but occasionally you get a man who isn't rough and who knows how to please a girl. Madame takes her share, of course, but I'm saving all I can. One day, I'll have enough to get myself a new start, and I shall be a respectable woman."

"No citizen of France should be forced to scrounge a living in this manner!" said Enjolras heatedly. "It is immoral! Unjust! A person's status at birth should not be allowed to dictate the course of their life! One day, it will all change...the darkness that is injustice will be banished by the sunrise of possession!"

"You're a real Voltaire, you are, monsieur!" chuckled the girl. "You are a student, are you not?"

"Yes," Enjolras nodded. "I am studying the law. How can you tell?"

"There's still hope in your eyes," she told him softly, her voice melancholic. "You can tell a student from the other men – their eyes are full of hope and dreams. They think they have a chance. But when a person has to go out into the city and scratch their living by any means possible, that hope gets smothered. Life kills their dreams and destroys their ideals. One day you’ll all be just like the rest of us."

"My dreams will only be destroyed, Citizeness, if I am destroyed with them," vowed Enjolras determinedly. "France will be changed for the better one day... that I swear. One day soon!"

"Who are you? Saint Michel incarnate?" the young prostitute asked, looking in amazement at this polite, blond young man with the face of angel but the eyes and voice of an Olympian.

"No," Enjolras admitted with a rare laugh. "I am simply a believer. My name is Enjolras; Julien Enjolras. What is yours, Citizeness?"

"Henriette," she answered, rubbing the last of her tears from her cheeks, and smearing the cheap rouge she had used to highlight her cheekbones. She realised that Enjolras was waiting for her to follow it with a surname. "Just Henriette."

"Have you no family?"

"Not what you'd call proper family, monsieur," she told him with another bitter smile. "Papa died when I was little more than an infant, and if Maman is still alive, she's probably unconscious in a tavern somewhere! I have not seen her in over seven years. She might be dead...I do not know. I don’t particularly care!” She shrugged carelessly, evidently trying to stress how little she cared. "The brothel is my family, I suppose – Madame Dauberiell's house of sin, they call it. There are eight of us, not counting Madame, so I have friendship if I have nothing else!”

"What are doing out here then?" Enjolras asked, half expecting her to grow angry under this barrage of questions.

"There are only four bedrooms, monsieur, you see," Henriette answered, as though this was the simplest thing in the world. "So we take it in turns; four of us take customers to the rooms and the other four walk the street for men."

Enjolras was appalled, sickened and grieved. To him, Henriette was yet another victim of the regime, a citizen of the republic whom life had deprived of any real chance of improvement due to the poverty in which she had been born. A citizen like Feuilly, who despite being as intelligent and articulate as the other Amis of the ABC, would never really have the same chance as his fellows.

All of a sudden, it started to rain.

"Shit!" cursed Henriette in dismay, leaping up from her position on the edge of the kerb.

Enjolras stood also. "Go home to bed, Henriette," he instructed solemnly. The girl shook her head resolutely, determination suddenly showing in the cynical eyes.

"I ain't going home empty handed, monsieur, it's more than my life's worth!" she explained laconically. "Madame will throttle me! Don't you worry your handsome head about me, I've walked the streets in worse than this. Goodnight, Saint Michel." With that teasing farewell, she turned and began to head back down the street.

"Wait!" Enjolras hurriedly caught her wrist, stopping her from going any further. She looked at him in surprise. "Come home with me."

Henriette simply blinked at him, clearly hesitating. But Enjolras was good-looking and seemed a well-bred young man, far more preferable than the drunks she had pawing at her some nights! And he did not look as though he'd use her roughly...

"All right," she said with a nod, and followed him down the street.

The walk back to Enjolras's lodgings was not a long one and, as they both walked quickly in order to escape the rain, it took very little time.

After they had hurried inside his rooms, Enjolras closed the door behind them and peeled off his wet coat, tossing it over a chair. When he turned around once again, he was stunned to find that Henriette was briskly unlacing the bodice of her dress.

"No!” Enjolras cried, his face blushing scarlet. He hurriedly stepped forward and, taking the laces from her rough fingers, tied her bodice back up again.

"I don't understand," said Henriette, her eyes confused and uncertain. "What do you want from me, monsieur? Do you want me to give you a..."

"No! I did not bring you back here to take advantage of you, Henriette," Enjolras said hurriedly, before she could finish, his cheeks still on fire.

"Then what did you bring me back for?" asked Henriette bemusedly. Enjolras gestured with his arm towards a door on the left hand side of the room. She followed him across to it and, as he opened it, she saw that it led to a well-furnished bedroom.

"I will give you whatever it is you would usually earn," Enjolras said quietly. "Just lie down in there and get some sleep. It is no weather to be roaming the street, and you can rest easy knowing that no harm will come to you tonight."

"Why are you doing this?" Henriette was gaping at Enjolras now. He was offering her a bed for the night...but wanted nothing in return? Not even her hand or mouth? 

"My father is very wealthy, I have been fortunate in life," said Enjolras, by way of explanation, pressing some money into her hand. Henriette looked at in in shock - it was much more than she would usually get from a customer! "I believe that every citizen of the republic deserves the same chance. You deserve a safe night's respite just the same as I do! Go on, get some sleep."

Shaking her head, as though she could not quite believe what was happening, Henriette obediently crossed the threshold into Enjolras's bedroom. As she did so, she withdrew a handkerchief from somewhere about her bosom and flapped it out over the pillow of his bed.

"Can't be getting your linen dirty, can we?" she said lightly, gesturing to the rouge and powder on her face, before she became suddenly serious; the cynicism in her eyes fading just for a moment. "Thank you, monsieur."

"I am only doing my duty as a true citizen of France," said Enjolras gravely. "Goodnight Henriette." He closed the door to give her the privacy he suspected she was seldom accommodated at any other time, and went to bed down in Combeferre's room.

When Henriette emerged from his bedroom the next morning, she found Enjolras sitting on a chair by the window of his sitting room, his head bent over a large leather-bound book. He looked up as she came uncertainly into the room.

"Good morning, monsieur," Henriette said, a little awkwardly; confused as to what the situation would be now that it was morning. Would Enjolras have changed his mind after last night, and demand that she repay him for what he had done?

"Good morning," Enjolras said, also looking uncomfortable. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did, monsieur, thank you. Your bed is very comfortable," Henriette admitted with a smile, straightening her skirts. "You...you are certain that you do not wish something in return?"

"I am certain," Enjolras nodded solemnly, inwardly thinking that it was very good job that Courfeyrac was not present! He would have had her back in the bedroom before she could blink! But no, it was not what he desired. 

"I...I had best be getting back to Madame, monsieur," said Henriette, blushing a little. "I heard the church clock strike nine as I got dressed. I am never usually this late in going back of a morning. The other girls will be worrying about me."

"Of course, of course," said Enjolras, standing up. "I do not wish you to get into any trouble. Come, I am going to call on my friend Joly. I will walk with you to the corner of the street."

"It's...it’s daylight, Monsieur Enjolras," Henriette reminded him pensively. "What will your friends think if they see you with the likes of me?"

"They will think nothing of it!" lied Enjolras firmly. That was not true – if any one of them saw him with a woman, they would be sure to make some sort of joke out of it, Courfeyrac and Grantaire especially, that would endure at least a month. But certainly they would not disdain her! “All citizens are equal under the republic! There is no reason why either of us should not be able to walk down the street with the other!" The flicker of fire in his icy blue eyes gave his words further conviction and Henriette was again struck by how like some sort of Olympian messenger this young man was. It was as though he was a new Robespierre, or Danton - she could readily see men and women, enchanted by his eloquence and his determination, not to mention his beauty, willing to follow him anywhere!

Enjolras was as good as his word and walked at Henriette's side along the street where his lodgings were until they came to the corner, where he would have to go left in order to get to Joly's lodgings, and she would have to go right, the way back to the brothel where she lived, in the somewhat seedier area of the city.

"Here," said Enjolras, as Henriette opened her mouth to say goodbye. He pressed ten francs into her hand. "Take this, and hide it from your mistress."

"No, I can't take this, monsieur!" Henriette protested, shaking her head. "What you gave me last night was more than enough. This is more than twice what I'd usually earn of a night, and I have given you nothing in return! You cannot give me this!"

"Keep it!" Enjolras insisted, his eyes boring into hers with fiery intensity. "All I want you to do in return is to _believe_. Have faith in the republic, Henriette, and in the people. The new dawn approaches, I promise you that. It will be here very soon and then, we will all have a new life. Not all hope has to die, my friend. Sometimes ideals can become reality...and one day, there will be no more injustice in France. You will have your new start then. Goodbye, Citizeness Henriette." With a last intense look into her eyes, Enjolras turned away and proceeded down the street to the left, his lean shoulders squared and his head held high; his long stride carrying him off into the September morning.

"Goodbye, monsieur," Henriette murmured, tucking the ten francs into her pocket and laughing quietly to herself. "I won't forget you in a hurry!"

With a sigh, the young prostitute tossed her curls out of her eyes, and began her walk back to the brothel. Maybe a new world truly was dawning...all she hoped was that she would live to see it! But even so, that was the future. Today, it would have to be business as usual.


End file.
